Dear angels
I write to you because, I know not if you exist…. I write to you because believing in one man, one being, one word, one three letter word…too much for me. I write to seek guidance but what’s to guide when nothing wants to be led yet one is seeking? I write to you because disappearing is all I know and the reappearing ink, stains the steady scars and the voices broadcasting live, set to recording and play on ears…my ears. I don’t know if the graffiti on my hearts’ walls should be there but the door is locked…yet every time I open it, I cry in pain. I lash out in fear and rebellion. But as silent as my stomps are no one understands how heavy the ground can shake when a pebble is moved…. Or how unsteady the most solid of people can be… and it scares me. I hold together a piece of perfection and break the hollow frames of a mirror to breathe, seven years of bad luck…well I guess It’s been following me off and on throughout my years. Of questionable living, and bathing in streams of stable doubt. I know not of love…but I know of fear…and pain. It’s argued that one of such early years shouldn’t feel “love” but if fear knows no limits then why can’t love? Angels…I write to you and I know not if you exist but to hold all my hopes in one three letter word…I can’t….
Broken headfones